


The old willow

by Unionjackbrolly



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Magic!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:10:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1990992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unionjackbrolly/pseuds/Unionjackbrolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tiny fic in which Jehan grows up with an interesting friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The old willow

When Jehan was just a small boy he lived in a tiny village in the Provence. The winters would be cold so high up and the summers were absolutely sweltering. In the village where he lived, his mother was an important witch to whom everyone came with their problems and questions. The young witch learned a lot from his wise mother but it also meant he had to amuse himself more often than not. There was a meadow not very far from their house which could only be reached by an almost invisible pathway through the trees and shrubbery which was really only visible to the very few people who knew it. The meadow was Jehan’s favourite place for it was filled with flowers and surrounded by trees. It was very unusual as in the middle of the meadow was a small lake, really not more than a very big puddle by which stood an old willow. There was no reason for the water to be there since it had no source but it would never dry up, not even on the hottest of summer days. It appeared to be quite deep as well, Jehan had never reached the bottom no matter how deep he dived. Jehan, who was usually referred to as “le petit Jean” in the village because of his small stature and rather girlish looks, was six when he first came upon the meadow after wandering uphill for what seemed like an age in a fit of boredom on a warm day in late Spring. He wandered to the tree standing proud in the middle and stared at it for a while. The tree was old and although it bent slightly over the water, it stood relatively straight for a willow. The long tresses of leaves touched the water only with their very tips and the bark made interesting patterns. Jehan’s mother had taught her son to always respect nature - Gabrielle Prouvaire did not raise irresponsible witches after all - so the six year old boy with his unruly wisps of strawberry blonde hair matted to his forehead bowed his head to the tree and then looked some more. “You have a face too!” he exclaimed in joy after seeing some part of the bark that indeed, resembled a face of sorts. The little boy closed the distance and hugged the tree. From that moment on, something changed in the meadow. It was the start of an unusual friendship between a boy and a tree.

Over the years Jehan visited the meadow whenever he could, which was almost every day. He would sit against the old tree and tell it everything from how he fell in the school yard when he was six to how he didn’t dare to ask Hugo de Courfeyrac to dance at a school party when he was fourteen because he was afraid the guy in question wouldn’t understand his intentions. He would read his favourite fairy tales and later his favourite books and poems and even still later his own poems no matter how the weather was. Jehan didn’t have a lot of friends but that never bothered him because he had someone who listened to him, who was never too busy for his stories and who didn’t judge him because he was small or girly or liked guys and girls. 

In the summer Jehan would leave early in the morning with a stack of books, his notebook, a big soft plaid and some food and drinks and would have breakfast sitting bleary eyed against the willow, telling him about his dreams between bites of fresh pastry. After reading up on his magic studies, he would often cool off in the lake when it got too hot, not bothering with swimming trunks because in the many years he had come to the meadow, he had yet to see another human. After a swim he would focus on big story books he borrowed from his mum’s bookcase or the library. At the end of the afternoon when a gentle wind would remind him of the time he would pack up his thing, say goodbye to his old friend the willow and head home.

Jehan was turning eighteen in the spring and as it was tradition went to the Oracle to inquire about his gift. A child could possess magic or other powers called their ‘gift’ but could not use them until they turned eighteen. Thus, it was a tradition to go to the Oracle on one’s eighteenth birthday to ask them if one had any powers at all and what would be the next course of action. Jehan was nervous as his mother led him down a busy street in the next big city. He had been nervous all week and not without reason. His mother was the strongest witch he knew, the smartest and most powerful witch of southern France and it would be a disgrace if her son would be weak, or worse, an Ungifted. He had talked about his worries to the willow but there was only one person who could make him feel at ease about it and she would not say anything on the subject. 

As it turned out Jehan’s fears were ungrounded and he had received a gift much like his mother’s and the prophecy that he would be powerful and compassionate. However, this meant that his mother wanted him to go to Paris to study because it was there that the best witches were trained. Jehan didn’t know how he felt about that. He grew up in a small village surrounded by nature and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face the busy, big city where no one knew him and he knew no one in turn. He told everything to the willow and for the first time in his life, he was upset about the silence he got in return. Eventually he gave in to his mother’s insisting and applied for university in Paris. That summer he spent less time in the meadow because his mother insisted on him practicing and learning ahead of his first semester and he felt it was no longer calming to be met with the silent rustling of leaves. 

The last day of summer before his trip to Paris arrived sooner than he had expected and he spent the day reading in the comfortable shade of the willow. However as he got up to leave he felt reluctant. This place, this tree, they had been his sanctuary for as long as he could remember. He would have to leave his old friend here and no one would visit, no one would read and break the silence, no one would tell the willow their dreams or worries. Jehan felt tears welling up in his eyes and for a last time, he stood before the old willow. He ran his long fingers over the bark, his fingertips tracing the face like features. “I have to leave now…” he said, voice thick with tears. “My… my friend why won’t you say anything?” he asked, voice hoarse with despair, tears running freely down his cheeks. Clenching his eyes shut he leant his forehead against the cool bark “Tell me it will be okay… I don’t want to leave you.”  
There was only the rustling of leaves.

A year passed quickly and Jehan made a lot of friends. Next to his magical studies he had taken up Literature and he loved every bit of it. The boy Courfeyrac from Jehan’s village had also moved to Paris and they had become great friends and soon Courfeyrac had introduced Jehan to his friend Enjolras who majored in Law & Magic with a minor in Politics. Enjolras was stoic and beautiful and reminded Jehan of a painting of an Archangel he had once seen, all gold and fearless. There was also Grantaire, a cynical Ungifted but incredibly talented artist and Marius, an enthusiastic if not slightly awkward boy who studied multiple languages and anything else that caught his fancy. There was Joly, a medical student who did both traditional healing and modern medicine; Bahorel, a casual Warlock who studied law; Bossuet, an unfortunate magician who had had his powers stolen; Eponine, and incredibly talented but poor witch who tried to make her way through school on bluffing and hard earned money and Feuilly, a hardworking, knowledgeable Ungifted who loved knowledge. Jehan loved all of them dearly, finally having found people who wouldn’t judge him on his appearance or on his mother’s fame. They met up regularly and planned rallies and protests. However, there was a disbalance in the group that no one had been able to fix. There was too much reckless enthusiasm and a lack of reason. 

It was after this eventful year in which Jehan worked hard to pass all his courses that he came home for the summer. He traveled with Courfeyrac who was also visiting his family and was excited to be home again. After a lovely dinner with his mother, who had missed him despite having been incredibly busy he retreated to his room. It was still light outside and Jehan decided he would not wait to visit his old friend the willow. After packing a book, some food and a warm cardigan he bid his mother goodnight and started the familiar path to the meadow. Jehan noted with delight the wide arrange of flowers that had grown in his absence but when he came to the meadow his smile disappeared and he could contain the shocked gasp.  
The willow was gone.  
Not a stump remained of the tree, of his dearest friend.  
His knees gave out when he had reached the very place on which the tree had stood. There was nothing left. Nothing that would even hint at the many years the willow had stood there, proud and calm, leaves rustling gently in the wind. The witch started crying, heavy sobs wracking his body and tears streaming down his face. He knelt by the waterside for what seemed like an age and was too absorbed in his own sadness to notice the change of atmosphere in the meadow.

A hand on his shoulder startled him before a soft, deep voice broke the silence.  
“Why are you crying?”  
Jehan nearly pulled something as he turned his head to see who had talked to him in this place where he had never seen another person. The figure was obviously male and Jehan thought, possibly a wood nymph, a shy woodland creature he only knew from fairytales and lore. He sniffed “My friend is gone.” he told the stranger and squinted his eyes. The sun was right behind the man’s face and he couldn’t see anything. “Who are you?” he asked, confused as to why a wood nymph would talk to him. The figure crouched down in front of Jehan and he could now see there were tears in his brilliant jade eyes. “Jehan, do you not recognise your friend?” was the reply, the deep soothing voice reminding Jehan of the rustling of the willow’s leaves.  
The witch’s eyes went wide “You… You!” he nearly yelled and his hands found the man’s face, tracing oddly familiar features. “It is you!” he gasped and felt strong arms embrace him as he buried his face in the man’s neck. “Oh, how I have missed you, Jehan.” murmured the man.

They stayed there the whole night, watching the sun set and the stars come out. The wood nymph, Combeferre, told Jehan how he had been cursed and trapped into the form of the willow and had stood there for years and years before Jehan had found him. He had forgotten about the anguish of not being able to move freely as Jehan had visited him so often over the years and he had grown to have peace with his curse. About a month after the witch had left for Paris he had gotten a visit from a wise witch who had taken pity on the poor creature and freed him. Of course it had taken none less than Gabrielle Prouvaire to break his curse. The woman had taken him in and cared for him when he was weak because she knew he was special to her son. After that night Jehan took Combeferre home and thanked his mother profusely for what she had done. He had his friend back and this time, his words would not be met with the mere rustling of leaves. His friend had a voice.

 

~

“Jehan, I’m nervous.”  
“Don’t be ridiculous dear, they are nice people.” Jehan said as he squeezed Combeferre’s hand, stroking a patch of moss that grew near his wrist bone. With the other hand he opened the door and led the dark haired man to a long table where his friends were gathered. “Hey everyone” Jehan greeted  
“This is my boyfriend, Combeferre.”


End file.
